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My Morning

My husband is out of town, as usual. Which means mornings are all me.

I
set my alarm to wake up early to exercise, but my Little Meems (who slept with
me last night) was super snuggly and I decided to enjoy it while it lasted,
because it would be short-lived. It was. Girlfriend is mean when
she decides she doesn’t want to snuggle any more.

My
stomach is on fire and the thought of food makes me ill. Which makes
packing lunches and snacks and preparing breakfast all the more delightful.

We
were out of Log Cabin syrup, so Mrs. Butterworth substituted. This did
not go over well. Darn you Kroger for not
having the extra large bottle.

The
dog attacked Little Meems, which meant a lot of boohooing and moaning and
stress over how much pain she was in. For the record, no skin was
broken.

The
dog pulled all the stuffing out of her bed, chewed up some playdough (I have no
idea where she got that) and a few napkins, then ate a lightbulb.

Guess
who got to clean all that up? Darn you, dog. Why must you make my
life so crazy?

Little
Meems wanted help deciding what to wear. Which means this: I go
through her closet suggesting outfits and she poo-poos each one. She may
not know what she wants to wear, but she certainly knows what she doesn’t want
to wear. Which is the story of her life, really. In frustration, I
force her to get herself dressed and make her own decisions. She does not
appreciate this. At all. And she lets me know. Girlfriend is
not afraid of a confrontation. With me, that is.

Still
in my bathrobe.

I
let Little Meems skip her stupid (yes, I hate it as much as she does) math
homework yesterday so she could play (bad day at school) and now we have to do
THAT this morning. Darn you greater than and less than, why do your signs
have to be so confusing?

The
dog is chewing the kitchen table. And now the ottoman. I get out
the spray bottle, but she thinks it’s a game and gets even more wound up.
Now she is sprinting like a greyhound in a circle all around the
downstairs. I am trying to catch her, as are the boys. Which leads
to a lot of screaming and noise and Little Meems IS TRYING TO CONCENTRATE and
I’m still in my bathrobe and I need to get dressed because bus stop is in 10
minutes.

I
find the only thing in my closet that doesn’t need to be ironed. And now
this will be my new favorite dress.

All
my shoes are neutrals. Which is great and practical, but boring. I
lament the lack of color and excitement and think about the expensive, gorgeous
Shumacher wallpaper I just ordered that will prevent me from getting any.
Tradeoffs, right?

Ponytail
days are the best, no?

The
dog is so wound up I decide to take her with us to the bus stop. She proceeds
to poop in the middle of the street, which thrills the boys, and I have to get
it and hold onto her all while Little Meems freaks out about being late for the
bus and now cars are stopping and one of them even honked. Really?
You wanna’ drive your tire through poop? Be my guest.

Jerk.

The
kids are on the bus, the dog is in her kennel and I need to leave for work, but
wouldn’t it feel nice to crawl back into bed? Pick up prescriptions, stop
at Target to get a notebook and syrup, but leave without the notebook or syrup
because I bought a cute dress that I have been wanting instead and it was on
sale and I forgot all about the notebook and syrup. Darn you, lack of
focus!